


The Stars In The Sky

by kopperblaze



Series: Fortunes [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Curses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, a second first kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-03 13:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10247510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: Chapter OneNewt is hit by a curse intended for Percival and loses all of his good memories.Newt gave another shaky nod even as his breath caught in his throat. His husband. The elegant man in the black coat, who’d looked at Newt with eyes full of despair.Percival. He’d said his name was Percival, like one of King Arthur’s knights.Chapter TwoPercival is hit by a curse and loses his eyesight.“One of the curses blinded you. They’re not sure how to undo it yet.”Percival’s breath hissed through his teeth and the world dropped away from beneath him.Part of the Fortunes verse, but can be read alone.(I couldn't decide who should get hurt /o\)





	1. Chapter 1

_I love you more than the stars in the sky_

_but your name just escapes me tonight_

_-1930 / The Gaslight Anthem_

“The mind is a delicate thing, Mister Scamander, and yours has been through severe trauma due to the curse you were hit with. If we attempted to repair it now, we’d only cause more damage. Our mind healer will see you again in four days.”

Newt nervously twisted his hands in his lap and nodded jerkily. He couldn’t remember being hit by a curse. He couldn’t remember much at all.

“I’ll send your husband back in, if that’s alright with you? There’s no need for you to stay here, and I think time at home, in familiar surroundings, might help trigger your memory.”

Newt gave another shaky nod even as his breath caught in his throat. His _husband_. The elegant man in the black coat, who’d looked at Newt with eyes full of despair.

 _Percival_. He’d said his name was Percival, like one of King Arthur’s knights. His magic had felt warm and powerful, reaching out for Newt and wrapping around him like a protective shield.

How a man like that was his husband was beyond Newt. He twisted the ring on his finger, watching as the light reflected off it. He knew that his name was Newt Scamander and that he was a magizoologist. He remembered his parents and his brother, though their names escaped him. He remembered Leta Lestrange and Rodolphus Cauldwell, being expelled from school, the poachers in Egypt and Unicorn traffickers in Romania.

It seemed his memories had been filtered, the good ones taken away and the bad ones sticking, like a stain that couldn’t be removed.

Newt huffed and rubbed the back of his neck, trying harder to recall something, anything. It felt like grasping at straws.

The door opening broke Newt’s concentration. Footsteps echoed through the room and a pair of polished black dress shoes appeared in his line of sight, his gaze still fixed on the floor.

“Newt?”

When Newt looked up he found Percival’s hand hovering over his shoulder, like the man wasn’t certain he was allowed to touch him. His hair was disheveled, like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Are you ready to go?”

Newt took a calming breath and nodded, jumping down from the examination table. His head spun and he swayed on his feet. Hands steadied him and the smell of cologne filled his nose, warm and comforting. He’d never smelt it before and yet it made him feel …safe.

“Easy there. Is this alright?” Percival asked, wrapping an arm around Newt’s shoulders.

“Y-yes.” Newt allowed himself to be led from the room and down the hallway. He had no idea where home was, where Percival was taking him, but he had no choice but to trust this man.

***

“Newt!”

They’d barely taken a few steps when a man jogged up to them and threw his arms around Newt.

“Sweet Merlin you’re going to make me prematurely grey. I’ll look like Percy, it’ll be horrible.”

“You wish.” Percival muttered next to them.

“I’m...sorry?” Newt mumbled as he was crushed against a strong chest.

When the man let go and pulled back, Newt finally got a good look at him. They were the same height, but the man was broader, more strongly built. His eyes were a bright blue, not flecked with green like Newt’s, but his russet hair and the smattering of freckles across his nose were the same. There were fine lines around his eyes, like he smiled a lot. Right now his smile didn’t reach his eyes though - it looked strained and brittle, like a mask that didn’t sit quite right.

“You’re...my brother?” Newt asked and the man’s lips pulled into a grin.

“I am. My name’s Theseus and I’m your brilliant older brother whom you love and worship and always listen to.

Newt wrinkled his forehead.

“Always.” Theseus repeated. “You always do everything I tell you to.”

“I lost my memory, not my mind.” Newt pointed out and something in his chest eased when Theseus laughed and Percival’s lips twitched into a smile.

“Pity.” Theseus winked and pulled Newt into another one-armed hug. This time Newt shyly wrapped his own arms around his brother’s middle. He felt frazzled and tired and misplaced, and Theseus felt solid and like home.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.” Theseus rubbed comforting circles on Newt’s back, his voice low. “It’ll be alright, I promise you.”

Newt nodded and squeezed his eyelids shut, breathing shallowly until the burning behind his eyelids subsided.

***

The house was neat, neater than Newt remembered his childhood home ever being, but it was comfortable, lived in. Newt allowed Percival to take his coat and did his very best not to blush. His husband was an attractive man, and Newt wasn’t over it. Nor was he over the husband thing, to be honest.

He’d always felt isolated, incapable –and maybe unwilling– of connecting with people on a deeper level. To think that the sense of loneliness he had been well-acquainted with was a thing of the past seemed strange. As far as he remembered, he’d never even kissed anyone. He’d never dared to hope that anyone would _want_ to kiss him. And now there was this very, very handsome man who took his coat and put his hand on the small of Newt’s back without a second though.

“Tea?” Percival asked.

“Yes, thank you, doll.” Theseus replied with a grin before Newt had the chance to say anything. Percival huffed and rolled his eyes while Theseus pulled him into the livingroom.

“Did they say anything about what you should and shouldn’t do?” Theseus asked once they were sat down. He slouched low in an armchair, while Newt sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Should we try to trigger your memory or give it a rest? Did they give you any potions?”

“No, they didn’t say anything.” Newt studied his hands, his gaze drawn to the ring on his finger again and again. “They wanted to give me a headache killer but...Percival said I’m allergic and gave me some no-maj medication instead. It helped with the headache.”

“Muggle.”

“Hm?” Newt raised his gaze to look at his brother.

“We call them muggles in England.” Theseus clarified.

“Right, of course.” Newt nodded and sunk a little more into himself. How could he forget that?

“Doesn’t matter.” Theseus waved his hand dismissively and smiled, probably trying to be reassuring. “Did they know what curse it was that hit you?”

“No.” Percival answered as he stepped into the living room, a tray with a tea service on it floating over to the coffeetable. “Someone cast it from behind. It was-” He stopped and sat down on the couch next to Newt with a sigh, looking like the weight of the world pulled his shoulders down. “It was intended for me, but Newt stepped behind me because a woman with a stroller passed by and the walkway was narrow.” Percival leaned forward, his arms on his knees and his gaze fixed on the floor. “He must’ve apparated away immediately after.”

Theseus nodded, his lips pursed in thought. “Grindelwald?”

“No.” Percival shook his head and raised his gaze to Theseus. “I know how his magic feels, this wasn’t his.”

Newt frowned. How would Percival know Grindelwald, one of the darkest wizards of their time? And why would Grindelwald stage an attack on Percival? It made no sense, like most things in Newt’s jumbled mind.

He took one of the cups of tea and carefully blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. His hands were trembling ever-so-slightly and Newt hoped nobody noticed.

“I’ll come in help investigate if you want.” Theseus offered.

“Might be a good idea.” Percival’s shoulders dropped a little and the leather of the couch creaked as he shifted. “I’ve got my best people working on it. But I don’t want to go to the office now, I’d rather stay here with Newt.”

Newt briefly met Percival’s eyes but quickly averted his gaze and took another sip of tea, trying to hide his blush.

“Obviously. I’d have hexed your arse into the next century otherwise.” Theseus sipped his tea loudly. “I’ll go in and help your poor bunch with my brilliant skills, and you two stay here and...don’t get cursed. I’ll drop by for dinner later.”

Theseus drank the rest of his tea down like it was water, hugged Newt goodbye, patted Percival’s shoulder and was gone in a flash. In comparison to his easy chatter and loud nature the silence settling over the room made it felt empty and cold.

Newt took another sip of tea. He could feel Percival watching him.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to Newt but had probably been barely a minute, Percival cleared his throat.

“I don’t...I’m not sure how I can help you. So please tell me if you need anything or want to know anything. You can ask whatever you want.”

Newt’s chest clenched when he looked at Percival, an invisible force squeezing his heart at the forlorn look on the other man’s face. He didn’t know his husband, but Newt was fairly certain that he wasn’t supposed to look like this. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

“Thank you.” His voice sounded hoarse and thin to his own ears. They fell back into silence, the kind that made Newt feel frozen in place, like even a shift of muscle was going to break it.

“Would you like to see your creatures?” Percival offered and Newt nearly spilled the remains of his tea as he jumped to his feet.

“Please.”

***

The world inside the suitcase felt familiar and Newt’s shoulders dropped from their tense perch. It was overwhelming, all the habitats, the sounds, the beasts, and yet Newt felt surer of himself than he had since waking up. His magic was woven tightly around the air in the suitcase like an invisible net, and it pressed around Newt from all sides like a comforting blanket.

“It’s time for feeding, if you want to do the rounds with me?” Percival very clearly tried to keep his voice neutral, though it cracked a little around the edges. Newt’s throat clicked as he swallowed and nodded, not trusting his own voice to hold up. He still avoided looking at Percival, incapable of stopping himself from blushing and feeling shy around the man.

Following Percival on the rounds it became clear that Newt remembered some of the beasts but not all of them. He knew about the mooncalves and graphorns, but when Dougal materialized in front of him Newt nearly jumped out of his skin. He had no recollection of the niffler or Pickett, who stayed perched on Newt’s shoulder, either.

No matter if he did or didn’t remember them though, Newt was still a natural with the beasts, petting them and not shying away from them in the slightest. It felt right, caring for these creatures, and Newt allowed his gut feeling to tell him what to do, as he’d always done. He fed the occamies bugs and scratched the diricrawls’ chins, their beaks chattering in pleasure.

It was easy, dealing with the creatures. They didn’t ask questions, didn’t look at Newt like he was incomplete. They didn’t expect anything of him, never had, and Newt allowed that to comfort him.

“Would you like to stay in here a little longer? I’ll go up and make dinner.”

Newt looked up from the graphorn foal he was petting, his gaze settling on Percival’s chin.

“If that’s no bother?” Truth be told Newt didn’t want to leave the suitcase yet. Everything was so confusing and unsettling, and at last inside the suitcase Newt’s skin didn’t feel so tight and his life not so foreign.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” Percival paused and wiped his palms in his slacks, unconcerned about getting straw and dust on the fine material. Once done he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, like he didn’t trust himself not to reach out. “A copy of your book is in the shed, if you want to look at that.”

“Thank you.”

They smiled at each other for a second. It felt stilted and awkward and Newt’s face dropped as soon as Percival turned. He watched his husband’s retreating back and sighed, curling into himself.

“Oh Pickett, this is such a mess.”

The bowtruckle chittered softly and his leaves tickled Newt’s cheek in a whispering touch of comfort.

***

Percival forced one foot in front of the other, no matter how weak his knees felt as he stepped out of the suitcase. The silence of the apartment rung in Percival’s ears, leaving too much room for his thoughts.

By the time Percival made it to the kitchen he felt like his knees were going to buckle. He put his hands flat on the counter and leaned his weight on them, his head falling forward as he closed his eyes. His exhale came out like a low keen in the back of his throat and an invisible hand was pushing down between his shoulderblades.

He’d done his best to push his own demons aside, to be there for his husband, but in the quiet of the kitchen it all came rushing in, like a door had opened in his mind. The image of Newt on the ground, still and pale, was burnt into Percival’s mind along with the way his chest had seized up and his heart had stood still for what had seemed like minutes as he’d thought his husband dead.

And now Newt was shy and skittish around him, like they’d never known each other, like they hadn’t shared a life for years now. It hurt more than Percival could’ve ever imagined. At first he’d been glad that Newt was healthy –heck, that he was alive!– and had told himself that he’d be able to cope with anything else.

Well. He wasn’t. Nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the feeling of his own husband, the person most precious to him in the universe, looking at him with not a spark of recognition in his eyes. The man who had sought the comfort of his arms whenever he felt distressed now flinched away from him.

And worst of all, Newt remembered people and beasts, but he didn’t remember Percival.

It felt like Percival’s ribs had been punched in and his heart torn out, leaving a gaping and raw hole behind.

His breathing came in huge, heaving gasps, like he’d been running for hours, and his heartbeat galloped in his chest, like a stallion kicking its hoof against his ribcage. The more he attempted to calm himself the more he hyperventilated, until his head was starting to spin and the rushing of blood in his ears turned into a deafening roar. His eyes were firmly squeezed shut and in the darkness around him Percival was lost, pulled under and unravelling at the seams.

“–ival!”

There was a pressure on his shoulders, fingertips digging in, and a voice that cut through Percival’s screaming thoughts.

“Fucks sake, Percival! Percy!”

He was yanked back from the counter and Percival’s eyes flew open. He drew in a heaving gasp of air, like a man who’d been underwater for too long.

“Shit, mate. C’mon, sit down.”

Percival blinked his eyes to clear his vision and allowed himself to be led to a chair, sinking down into it on autopilot. Theseus’ face swam into focus, the man peering up at him with furrowed brows. The line of his lips was hard and his eyes were wide, frightened. It looked wrong. Theseus was never frightened.

“Take a sip of water.” Theseus conjured a glass and pressed it to Percival’s lips, tipping it a little and only allowing him small sips at a time. The cool liquid running down his throat made Percival aware of the fact that he was drenched in sweat and shivering at the same time. It took him back to the long days of his recovery, when Grindelwald’s whispers had haunted him and brought him to the brink of collapse within the blink of an eye.

“Easy.” Theseus put the glass down on the floor and rested a careful hand on Percival’s knee. “Better?”

Percival nodded, not trusting his voice to obey his commands yet.

“Shit, man, what was that? What happened?”

Dropping his gaze Percival swallowed against the lump in his throat and wiped at his eyes, trying not to be mortified by the wetness he found there.

“My apologies.” Percival’s voice felt like sandpaper and he ran a hand through his hair. Elbows on his knees he dropped his head and laced his fingers together behind his back, focusing on a crack in the wooden floor. In an unfortunate series of events Newt had dropped his iron cauldron a few days ago and they hadn’t gotten around to repairing the floor so far.

“Percy?” Theseus carefully combed his fingers through Percival’s hair.

“I just.” Percival swallowed and licked his chapped lips. “He doesn’t...what if he never remembers me?” He asked, feeling anxiety flaring back to life in his chest. “What if he never remembers me and doesn’t want me anymore? What if...what if they can’t repair his mind? It’ll...it’ll be my fault that he lost years of his life.” He raised his gaze to look at Theseus, desperate for answers he knew nobody could give him. “That spell was intended for _me_ and instead he got hurt. I promised to protect him and I couldn’t. What if...what if it had been a different spell? They...they could’ve killed him and I would’ve stood by and _let them_!”

He could feel himself growing agitated again. Theseus’ hand moved and squeezed his neck, the pressure anchoring Percival in the moment.

“You couldn’t have known. Not even I’m holding it against you and you know what that means, right? I know you’d protect my brother with your life, Perce. Everyone knows that. But, as much as I hate to admit it, we can’t protect him from everything and there was nothing, absolutely nothing you could’ve done.”

Percival opened his mouth to protest, because he should’ve done _better_ , but Theseus shook his head.

“No, I don’t want to hear any protests. And I understand that this is a horrible situation, but you need to stop this little pity party. Newt doesn’t remember you, and that’s horrible. But he doesn’t remember most of the good things in his life, Percival. That clue you into anything? That kid thinks you hung the moon, and he looks at you like you’re the rarest creature on the planet. You’re the best thing in his life, as much as it pains me to admit that, so of course he wouldn’t remember anything about you. Not if the spell was created to take the good things away.”

Giving a jerky nod Percival took a few even breaths, forcing his hands to stop shaking. Theseus was right, there was no point wallowing; he had to deal with the situation as it was.

“And if you think he isn’t going to remember you, or wouldn’t fall in love with you all over again, you’re even stupider than I thought. Which should be impossible, but alas, you strife to outdo yourself.” Theseus cracked a smile and Percival felt his own lips twitch in return.

“Right.” Theseus straightened up with a groan. “I’ll go get dinner and you go clean yourself up. You look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“Yes, well, allow me my moment of triumph. You’re such a dapper bastard, I have to take my victories where I can. At least today I can write in my diary that I finally looked much better than you.”

Percival snorted and got to his feet. He still felt unsteady, but not on the verge of losing it like he had before. “As happy as I am that you have something to tell your diary, that’s not what I meant. Thank you for-” he made an all encompassing gesture with his hand and Theseus nodded, clapping his shoulder. Even after all these years they weren’t all that great at talking about feelings.

“Anytime. Now shoo.” Theseus waved his hand and Percival made his way to the bathroom, trying to fit the pieces of himself that had broken and scattered back together.

***

Newt turned onto his side and pulled the blanket over his head with a huff. He stayed like that for a few seconds, the air beneath the blanket hot and stuffy, and then he kicked it off with a sound of frustration. He was tired but sleep was evading him, his thoughts spinning and turning around the things he did and didn’t know and the things he really, really wanted to know.

During dinner Theseus had given him an update on what had happened in the past few years. It had felt like he was talking about someone else’s life, reminding Newt of their mother when she’d been telling stories about the neighbours.

Percival had looked a little worse for wear when Newt had emerged from the suitcase, but he’d continued to treat Newt like he was a precious occamy egg, handling him with the utmost care. He’d left the bedroom to Newt, opting to sleep on the couch instead so Newt wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Newt wasn’t used to people being so considerate of his needs, and Percival’s soft smile and sad eyes had caused an ache to settle deep inside his chest.

Now, hours later in the dark, the ache was still there and Newt sat up. There was no point in twisting and turning. The longer he lay in the dark and mulled the day over in his thoughts, the more he became aware of the itching at the back of his mind, like all his memories sat there locked away in a box that Newt had lost the key to. It was frustrating, and Newt wanted to scratch at his skin where it felt too tight.

Incapable of staying still a moment longer he jumped out of bed and padded towards the kitchen. Maybe his future self kept some calming tea in the kitchen.

The table lamp in the living room was still on and soft light spilled out into the corridor. Newt kept his steps light as he approached and peered into the room. Percival had transformed the couch into a bed and sat propped up against the headboard, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. They made him look softer somehow, more vulnerable as he looked at the book in his lap but didn’t turn the page. A bone-weary sigh left his lips and he pushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead where they were falling over his eyes.

Something tugged on Newt’s insides and he stepped into the living room like a moth drawn to the flame. The floorboards creaked under his steps and Percival looked up.

“Can’t sleep either?” He asked and closed the book. Newt shook his head and stopped by the foot of the bed. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and wrung his hands, not quite sure what he should do or say.

Thankfully Percival didn’t seem to mind Newt’s awkwardness –he probably had years of experience with it because Newt doubted that he’d become any less awkward– and patted the bed next to him. Newt gingerly sat down and tried not to overthink that they sat so close together that he could smell Percival, a faint wisp of his cologne under the clean scent of soap.

“How’re you doing?”

Newt shrugged and rolled the hem of his pajama shirt between his fingers. “I’m...I feel alright, but then I don’t? It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. Not remembering, I mean. It’s rather uncomfortable.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Newt could see Percival nodding.

“Not long anymore until the mind healer is going to see you.” Percival’s hand tentatively wrapped around Newt’s and squeezed. Warmth surged through Newt’s body and he didn’t pull back, Percival’s palm warm against his own. “I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”

“You think?” Newt bit his bottom lip and dared to briefly raise his gaze.

“Yes.” Percival held Newt’s hand a little tighter, a promise in itself. “Whatever happens, we’ll make it work. One of the things I lo-...like about you is your ability to go with whatever life throws at you. I’ve always admired you for that.”

Newt ducked his head. It seemed unfathomable that a man like Percival would admire someone like Newt for anything.

“I suppose so.” Newt had learnt to adjust to life early because he’d always been different, the rhythm of his life out of tact with that of the other children.

Percival was still holding his hand and Newt’s palm was starting to feel sweaty as nervousness gnawed on his mind.

“I hate that my mind feels so...scrambled.” Newt pulled his hand back to rub at the back of his neck. It almost felt like an earthquake had taken place in his head, the remains of his mind and his memories shaky and unstable and partly collapsed. “I can’t tell if things I know really happened or if I made them up.”

Newt flinched in surprise when Percival ran a hand through his hair, pushing some wayward strands away from Newt’s eyes. Belatedly he jerked his hand back, like he hadn’t thought about the action at all and had reached out on instinct. His eyes were unsure and his smile tight when Newt glanced at him.

“How about some tea? Might do us both good,” Percival suggested and Newt nodded gratefully.

***

The tea had helped him sleep, but no miraculous recovery took place overnight. When Newt woke up it was with the same patchwork recollection of his life and a lingering sense of having lost something valuable.

Breakfast with Percival was slightly uncomfortable, the conversation stilted where Newt suspected it should’ve been flowing easily. They had been married for years, after all. Incapable of facing his failures and the disappointment he must be to Percival any longer, Newt excused himself and fled into his suitcase. The beasts were fantastic and captivating, and studying their colourful scales, running his fingers through soft fur, was much better than thinking about the mess his life currently was.

When Newt sat down to continue reading his book, Pickett the bowtruckle made himself comfortable on Newt’s head, rearranging his hair into what would probably become a nest.

“I can’t believe I wrote all that,” Newt said, stroking his fingers over the illustration of a diricrawl. “I can’t believe I’ve visited all these places.” Atop his head Pickett chittered, his tone that of a proud mother.

The hours flew by and Newt was sitting on the ground, watching the niffler as it pulled shiny things from its pouch and showed them proudly to him, when Percival stepped out of the shed.

“He giving you an update on his hoard?” Percival smiled. The niffler turned at the sound of his voice and rushed towards Percival with a happy squeak, clambering up the man’s leg. Percival caught him with practiced ease and the niffler held up a silver pocket watch.

“Thanks, buddy. But I’m still off work tomorrow, so you can keep it another night if you want.”

The niffler’s black eyes moved from Percival to the pocket watch as he considered the offer. Eventually he shook his head and thrust the pocket watch at Percival.

“Want me to hide it for you?” Percival took the watch and slipped into the pocket of his trousers, grinning when the niffler nodded. “Right then, I’ll try and make it extra difficult.”

The niffler gave a happy squeak, his stubby tail wagging when Percival stroked over his back before setting him down. Catching Newt watching them his smile softened. “It’s a game we play.”

“Ah.” Newt nodded and got to his feet, dusting off the back of his trousers. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

“No need to worry. I just came down to ask if you wanted to stay in here for dinner?” Percival gestured towards a small table standing on a makeshift patio in front of the shed. “Queenie dropped by and brought sandwiches from Kowalski’s.”

It was ridiculous, but Newt very much didn’t want to leave the suitcase. He felt safe in here, less unsettled than he did in the apartment. “If...if you don’t mind, I’d like that.”

“Sure.” With a snap of Percival’s fingers the food appeared on the table.

“How are you feeling?” He asked Newt once they’d sat down, glancing up from the sandwich he was unwrapping.

“I’m...alright, I suppose.” Newt inspected his own sandwich, lifting the bread on top and finding roast beef settled between lettuce and other vegetables. It smelt delicious. “The beasts are a good distraction.”

“Mhm.” Percival nodded and they ate in silence for a while, the chirps and croaks of the beasts the only sounds.

“Theseus sent an owl to say that he’s in England for the day to do some more research. He’ll drop by tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

Newt nodded, his attention on the pastry Percival had put on his plate. It looked like a demiguise. “Is this from a magic bakery?” Newt asked and took a bite, almost moaning in pleasure at how good it tasted.

“No, it’s from Jacob’s bakery,” Percival said before he pulled a face at the careless way he’d said it. “Sorry. You probably don’t remember. Jacob is a no-maj you met when you first came to New York. A lot of his creations are based on your creatures.”

That sounded delightful and Newt was tempted to ask Percival if they could visit the bakery. But the thought of going outside, and meeting a person he was friends with but couldn’t remember was too much. He didn’t want to see another disappointed face.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted before he knew it, staring down at his plate and pushing the pastry crumbs together into a neat pile.

“What for?” Percival put the niffler pastry he’d been eating down on his plate.

 _Everything_ , Newt wanted to say. Instead he said: “For being a disappointment.” Percival was a good man, he deserved better than having his husband replaced with an awkward man with no memories.

“Newt.” Percival didn’t sound annoyed, but there was an edge to his voice that made Newt look up from his pile of crumbs. After a few seconds Percival reached out, giving Newt enough time to pull away should he have wished to do so, and took his hand.

“You’re _never_ a disappointment,” Percival said, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “Never. And none of this is your fault. If anything it’s mine, I should’ve watched out for you.” His last words wavered a little, the steel in his voice replaced by something closer to guilt, and Newt shook his head.

“It may not be my fault, but it isn’t yours either. I’m not sure of many things these days, but I’m sure of that.” Newt lightly squeezed Percival’s hand. “And maybe I’m not a disappointment, but I’m not your husband either, am I?”

“Of course you are.” Wrinkles appeared on Percival’s forehead as he frowned and his grip tightened. “Of course you are my husband, unless you don’t want to be?”

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just...I don’t remember anything, and I’m terribly awkward and most likely nothing like the Newt you married and-” Newt’s ramblings were cut short by Percival getting to his feet and tugging Newt along, pulling him into a hug. It was loose enough that Newt could’ve easily pulled away should he have wished to, but firm enough that Newt felt safely encased. It was as if muscle memory kicked in at the touch and Newt relaxed.

“I hate to break it to you, darling, but you’ve always been awkward.” Percival’s voice rumbled in his chest and his hand rubbed slow circles on Newt’s back. “Endearingly awkward, but not a split personality, so you need to stop referring to yourself as if there are several version of you. You’re still the same man I fell in love with, and you not remembering won’t change that.”

Something warm and tingling unfurled in Newt’s chest, running through him until the tips of his fingers and his toes were curling with it. He pulled back a little and looked at Percival, for the moment not even shy about their close proximity. He’d expected annoyance, impatience, maybe anger for being a failure, but he hadn’t expected compassion and patience and such...such unconditional love. A shiver ran through his body.

“I love you very much, don’t I?”

Percival huffed a laugh and cupped one of Newt’s cheeks, his thumb stroking over the skin under his eye. “Only you know that, but I would hope that you do,” he said, the corner of his lips curling into a wry smile.

“I think I do.” Newt tilted his head into the touch. It felt _right_. “I don’t know how I know it, but I do. My mind doesn’t remember you, but my heart does.”

The expression on Percival’s face was so hopeful that Newt leaned forward. Right before his lips grazed Percival’s he stopped, a thought crossing his mind.

“You’ve probably kissed me many times before, but this’ll be my first kiss.”

“It’s not often you get a second chance at a first kiss.” They were so close that Newt could feel Percival’s breath on his lips. “So you better remember this one.”

Newt smiled despite the nervousness building in his stomach, and leaned in.

***

Later, when three exhausting sessions with a mind healer had restored Newt’s memories and left him with no long term damage except for infrequent headaches, he remembered both of his first kisses with Percival in great detail. The curse had had some nice side effects, at last.   



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this and it's really late, so I did a shoddy job editing it. I still hope you enjoy it! I do have way too much fun hurting Percival.... 
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are hugely appreciated and make my week ♥

* * *

When Percival woke, there was nothing but darkness. He blinked his eyes and tried to drag his mind out of the heavy clutches of sleep that slowed his thoughts down. When he swallowed his throat was dry and sore. 

 

Where was he? He couldn’t remember what he’d done last, or where he’d meant to go. Had he fallen asleep? It was too dark to be their bedroom, not a sliver of light to be seen. Newt and Percival both hated complete darkness, so the blinds were never entirely closed, the faint light of the street lamps or the approaching morning lighting up their room. 

 

Percival tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey his commands. A blinding headache flared to life when he lifted his head and his arms felt weak and like rubber, sagging between his weight when he attempted to push himself up. 

 

He groaned and lay back, blinking rapidly. The dry grittiness of his eyes was uncomfortable and his entire body was sore in a way it hadn’t been since Grindelwald had frayed his nerve-endings with the Cruciatus. Percival’s heart started up a galloping beat in his chest. 

 

Of course. Grindelwald. 

 

Percival forced himself to take a few even breaths, trying to concentrate and not let the roaring of his panic take over. 

 

“Lumos.” 

 

The darkness didn’t lift. 

 

His panic now rising Percival brought his hands up to his face. Nothing. He could feel his fingertips against his cheeks, but he couldn’t see anything. 

 

“Lumos!” He tried again, his voice shaky and far too loud. It was an easy enough spell, one he was able to do in his sleep, so why didn’t it work? His magic must be bound. 

 

Percival’s throat constricting painfully as he tried to swallow. 

 

It had all been an illusion, too good to be true. All of it had been nothing but a dream. Though if it was of Grindelwald’s making –one more thing the man tortured him with to speed up his descent into madness– or a desperate reprieve his mind had sought, Percival wasn’t sure. 

 

The laughter bubbling up in his throat made him sound hysteric, but Percival couldn’t bring himself to care. If he was going mad, dreaming up an entire life where he was married to Newt Scamander, then it wasn’t going to matter if he indulged in hysteria. 

 

The sound of a door opening and people rushing in made Percival flinch. He couldn’t see, couldn’t judge from which directions people were coming at him. Who were they anyway? Had Grindelwald invited some of his croonies again for a little sport? 

 

Hands touched him and Percival fought to get away. He heard voices but was incapable of comprehending what they said over the panicked screaming of his mind. Something cold and hard pressed against his lips, and when Percival refused to open up fingers pushed into his cheeks until he had no choice. He almost choked on the liquid being poured into his mouth, but as soon as he swallowed a deep warmth spread through his body.

 

He felt like a feather, floating slowly back into oblivion. 

 

***

 

The next time Percival woke it was still dark, but his head felt a little clearer. Panic wasn’t going to help, so he forced himself to stay calm and take stock. It was dark and quiet, but beneath him his fingers stroked over soft sheets rather than a stone floor. His body was sore, but it felt like it was mending, Percival’s magic drifting lazily beneath his skin. 

 

Wherever he was smelt rather clinical and clean, a far cry away from the stench of his prison. Beneath the scent of disinfectant there was something else, something that made Percival’s heart flutter. It smelt like hay and rain and tea. It smelt like Newt. 

 

He licked his chapped lips and shifted, trying to sit up. There was a sound to his right and he jerked away from it, eyes frantically darting around but finding no spot of movement, no crack in the black wall in front of him. 

 

“Percy.” It was Newt’s voice and Percival instinctively turned towards it. A second later a hand brushed against his, before settling atop of it. 

 

“Newt?” Percival turned his hand palm-up and laced his fingers together with those of his husband, the point of contact an anchor in the darkness. “Newt, what’s going on?” His voice came out thin and high, like his strength had been swallowed by the black hole along with the light around him.  

 

The mattress dipped and Percival startled when a hand cupped his cheek. 

 

“You...you were attacked.” Newt’s thumb stroked over Percival’s cheekbone. “On the way home. The...the healers are not entirely sure but they used some nasty curses. Most...most of the damage done they’ve already healed but.” Newt’s movements stilled. It was never a good sign when he went entirely still, causing anxiety to prickle in Percival’s stomach. 

 

“One of the curses blinded you. They’re not sure how to undo it yet.” 

 

Percival’s breath hissed through his teeth and the world dropped away from beneath him. Everything was spinning and he clenched Newt’s hand in his own, desperate for something to focus on in the swirling nothingness. 

 

It felt like the blackness was closing in on him, pressing down on him and choking him and there was no way  _ out _ . No escape, not a shred of light, nothing. Nothing nothing nothing but darkness. 

 

“Percival. Listen to me, please?” Newt’s hands were cradling his head and Percival blinked, breathing with his mouth open. He could only stare straight ahead with unseeing eyes, imagining his husband’s concerned face. Newt’s eyes would be very earnest, the corners of his mouth tilting down, and he’d hold eye contact to convey that he had something important to say. 

 

“They haven’t found a cure yet, but they’re working on it. Seraphina herself had all the specialists called in. It’s just a matter of time.” 

 

“If you’re going to tell me not to worry, I’ll punch you.” The words were uncalled for, Percival was well aware of that, but he couldn’t help it. His insides were coiled so tight he felt ready to snap and explode into a million little pieces. 

 

“Well, I was going to say, but.” Newt’s voice became a little muffled and Percival wondered if he was ducking his head, like he was prone to do. He reached out blindly, his hands fumbling, grabbing at empty air before finally settling on Newt’s arm. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

There was a sensation on Percival’s cheek, the soft press of Newt’s lips. 

 

“You’ve got every reason to be upset. But...but we’ll manage. Until they find a cure, we’ll manage. We’ll find a way.” 

 

Percival nodded, not trusting himself to speak past the lump in his throat. He was scared – no, he was terrified– and he felt so claustrophobic in the dark that he wanted to claw at his eyes, at his skin, claw his way out of the prison of his body. Newt meant well, but confined in this new jail Percival had a hard time believing his words, or feeling any hope at all. 

 

***

They sent him home because there was nothing they could do for him at the moment, suggesting he’d feel more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Percival had barely kept from snapping that it wouldn’t  _ matter  _ if the surroundings were familiar or not, since he couldn’t  _ see  _ them. He had trouble finding the way from the bedroom to the bathroom at night, stubbing his toes and fumbling blindly for light switches while half asleep. If he couldn’t navigate his home when there was faint light, he sure as hell wasn’t going to find his way in the dark. 

 

Newt apparated them, and for the first time since he’d been a child Percival stumbled and nearly vomited upon arrival. He drew in a shuddering gasp and threw his hand out to find a wall, a piece of furniture, anything to steady himself and stop his head from spinning. His blindness had amplified the disorienting discomfort of apparation a hundredfold, to the point where Percival couldn’t tell anymore where up and down was. 

 

“I’m sorry. I figured it wouldn’t be comfortable, but flooing seemed like an even worse option.” Newt’s hands on his shoulders gave Percival something to focus on and pulled him back into his body. After taking another deep breath Percival straightened his spine and squared his shoulders in an attempt to brace himself against the panic he could feel simmering under his skin. 

 

He had no idea where in their home they were, if he was facing the stairs or the door. 

 

“Let’s get you settled.” Newt wrapped an arm around Percival’s waist and gently nudged him forward. Warmth spread over Percival’s cheeks when he stumbled over his own feet repeatedly. It was mortifying. He was a grown man and yet he staggered like a newborn foal, like he’d forgotten how to walk. It wasn’t something he’d ever consciously thought about, but in the darkness Percival suddenly didn’t know how high he was supposed to lift his legs. He either felt like a prancing hippogriff, bringing his knees up way too high, or like a sullen toddler, dragging his feet. 

 

“Almost there,” Newt said and tightened his hold a little. With a gentle tug he brought Percival to a stop. “Turn around.” Once Percival had done so Newt put his hands on his shoulders and made him take a step back. Something bumped against the back of Percival’s knees and he sat down when Newt’s hands pushed at his shoulders. The leather of the couch was soft and cool under his fingertips and Percival leaned back, his exhale turning into a sigh. 

 

Newt was tugging on the laces of his shoes and the heat on Percival’s cheeks intensified. His hands were trembling by his side and he balled them into fists, biting the inside of his cheek when he felt a burning behind his eyes. He felt smaller than he ever felt in his life, more helpless than even in captivity. From a young age on Percival had been self-reliant, had taken pride in being able to do things himself. Now his husband had to take his shoes off. 

 

“Healer Dudding said you should take another pain potion and try to get some more sleep,” Newt said, his hands stroking over Percival’s knees and up his thighs. 

 

“Mh.” Percival hoped his voice wasn’t going to give away how shaken he was. “We have some of the Dreamless Sleep left?” 

 

Newt’s hand squeezed his knee. “A little won’t hurt.” Which was Newt speak for ‘We have enough left and I’m not entirely happy with you taking it but won’t hold it against you right now. Small favours, really. Percival didn’t think he’d make it through a discussion with Newt in his current state. 

 

He let Newt tip the potions into his mouth and allowed his husband to help when he fumbled in his attempts to lie down on the couch. Dreamless Sleep had always knocked Percival straight out, and he welcomed the heavy pull of sleep, allowed himself to be dragged under without any resistance. As long as he was asleep he wouldn’t have to think. 

 

***

During the course of his life Percival has sometimes wondered, as most people do, what it’d be like to be blind. Those thoughts had been fleeting, nothing more than a few seconds of possibility crossing his mind as he fumbled around in the dark.  _ How horrible it must be to be blind _ . And then he’d found the lightswitch, or cast a Lumos, banishing the darkness around him and feeling grateful to be able to see again. 

 

Nothing banished the blackness around him now, nothing lifted the heavy curtains blocking out the light. 

 

There was more to being blind than not seeing, a never ending string of consequences that added to the weight on Percival’s shoulders. He couldn’t go anywhere by himself, didn’t know where he was or who was in the room with him. Like a child he spilled his drinks, and he’d lost his appetite entirely after the first disastrous attempt of eating a sandwich ended with Newt feeding him. 

 

The height of humiliation had been the realisation that Percival couldn’t even go to the bathroom by himself. Newt had insisted that he didn’t mind –a sentiment he had repeated throughout the day as Percival’s frustration grew– but Percival minded. He minded very much. 

 

He couldn’t even drown himself in firewhiskey to bear the humiliation easier because he had no idea where the bottle was. Even if he did, he’d probably end up spilling it all over himself anyway. His magic was acting up, so he couldn’t summon it either. The change in his body, the loss of one of his primary senses, had caused his magic to change. In response to his insecurity it had become wavering and unreliable. Intent had never been a problem for Percival before, but how was he supposed to accio something when he wasn’t sure where he accio’ed it too because he wasn’t sure where he was currently standing? 

 

“I can hear you thinking.” Newt’s hand came to rest on Percival’s chest as he turned, curling closer to him. 

 

Percival hummed and reached up to lace their fingers together and raise Newt’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you for your help today.” And, well, all the help he’d need tomorrow. And possibly for the rest of his life. 

 

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” Newt said and pressed a kiss to Percival’s jaw. He acted like it was nothing special, unfailingly patient no matter how many things Percival needed. 

 

“Yes, yes I do. You didn’t sign up for...for a disabled husband.” 

 

“ _ Don’t _ say that.” Newt’s fingers curled tighter around his, and as the mattress dipped Percival imagined him pushing himself up on one elbow, looking down at Percival with his lips pursed. “This isn’t your fault, and I married you because I love you, not because you have impeccable eyesight.” 

 

Percival snorted. “And here I thought my sharp sight was my best feature.” 

 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Newt’s finger traced down the bridge of his nose. Percival could hear the smile in his voice. If he kept his own eyes closed he could pretend that this was like any other night they lay in bed together, talking until they fell asleep. 

 

“I married you for your money, obviously.” 

 

“Obviously.” 

 

“That’s what the ladies from the Gardening Society think anyway.” 

 

“Good thing we’ve never cared about the ladies from the Gardening Society.” 

 

“No, especially not since they didn’t want my advice on how to deal with garden gnomes.” 

 

“How dare they.” 

 

Newt huffed a laugh and leaned down for a soft kiss, before bumping his nose against Percival’s. It felt so normal and the knot in Percival’s chest unravelled a fraction. It was good to know that at least their relationship hadn’t changed. 

 

“I married you because you’re the kindest, grumpiest, most wonderful, and most stubborn man in the world.” 

 

“You make me sound like a real catch.” Apparently one didn’t need to see an eyeroll to know it was happening, because Percival was fairly certain that’s what Newt did, before he continued. 

 

“You’re also very silly sometimes and say very silly things. But, my point is, I love you and that isn’t going to change because you require a little help. Merlin knows I need your help often enough. I meant it when I said that I’d be by your side in good and in bad times. I think...I think maybe love is even more important in bad times.” 

 

Percival ran his hands up Newt’s hands, over the planes of his shoulders and the curve of his neck, until he could cradle his head and lean up for a kiss. His judgement was a little off and his lips grazed Newt’s chin, but his husband adjusted the angle easily enough so their lips slotted together. Percival tried to pour his feelings into the kiss because he’d never been good with words, trying to let Newt know how much he loved him with every fibre of his being. Even though he didn’t think he deserved someone so wonderful when he himself was so broken in so many ways. 

 

“If you’re thinking that you don’t deserve me right now I’m going to punch you,” Newt mumbled against his lips, and for a second Percival wondered if Queenie had been teaching him legilimency again. 

 

“You punch like a bowtruckle, so that isn’t much of a threat.” 

 

Above him Newt huffed and pinched his side. “Say that again and I’ll tell Pickett.” 

 

Percival sucked in air through his teeth. “Getting out the big guns now, are you?” 

 

“You started it.” Newt shifted and settled his head on Percival’s chest. His weight was grounding and Percival’s breathing automatically adjusted to that of his husband. 

 

“Think you can sleep?” 

 

“Mhm, I’ll try.” 

 

“Wake me if you need anything.” 

 

“Mhm.” 

 

“I mean it, Percival. Don’t be stubborn,” Newt said as he hooked one of his legs over Percival’s. 

 

“I’d never defy your orders, Newton.” 

 

Newt snorted and lightly kicked the heel of his foot against Percival’s shin before settling in. 

 

With Newt’s weight atop of him, his chest moving evenly against Percival’s with each breath, Percival thought that maybe he could find a little sleep after all, without the aid of a potion. 

 

***

Percival had never been a patient man and the hours –days– in the dark were wearing his nerves thin. He lashed out more often than he liked to admit, his already bad temper worsened by his state of uselessness. He wanted to scream and rage against the all consuming darkness, wanted to hunt down the people who had done this to him, but instead he hissed and yelled at the people trying to help him. 

 

Queenie Goldstein was persistent, dropping by every day with something from Jacob’s, ignoring the fact that Percival never touched his food in front of her and keeping up idle chatter instead, telling him about what was happening at work and filling the empty darkness with her voice.

 

Her sister, as always, was more pragmatic, informing him of the state of the investigations and the advances of the medical team. She never once acknowledged his disability, her attention solely on the case. Her determination made her a good auror, had made her one of the best on Percival’s team. As he listened to her he thought to himself that once he was back at work he’d have to change some things, to make sure that Tina wasn’t going to burn out before her time. 

 

Newt was unfailingly at Percival’s side, standing like a rock in the midst of the storm of Percival’s temper. He only ever left Percival alone to go tend to his beasts, and in his less than admirable moments Percival thought that he wasn’t better than any of Newt’s creatures himself. He needed care and feeding and tending to. Only his attitude was a lot worse. 

 

With a sigh Percival leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes, wondering how he was going to pass the endless hours today. 

 

***

 

“Theseus is here.”

 

Percival slowly turned his head, his gaze settling on the wall to Newt’s right. He’d been reluctant to let anybody visit, too proud to allow anyone to see him vulnerable. None of their friends would hold it against him, all of them worried and trying to help, but Newt knew his husband, and how much he hated having to admit a weakness. 

 

“I’m not really in the mood to see anybody,” Percival said, his tone sullen as it always got when he was left alone with his thoughts for too long. He was speaking to the wall, and that was never not going to be strange. His eyes looked the same as they always had, warm and dark, but their keen sharpness had been replaced by unfocused dullness. 

 

Newt couldn’t decide what was worse –Percival looking past him as he addressed him, or Percival looking at him and yet looking  _ through _ him. 

 

“You know he’s not going to accept that. I only kept him from barging in with Pickett’s help.” Newt walked over to the armchair his husband was sat in and crouched down, setting his hands gently on his knees. Percival’s unseeing eyes turned to him, his jaw set firmly in displeasure. “Don’t be like that, I think he had to yell at a lot of people in England to get some time off work.” 

 

“Well, I didn’t ask him to, did I?” Percival snapped. A moment later his posture relaxed and he groaned, putting one of his hands over Newt’s in a silent apology. 

 

“He’s worried,” Newt said and leaned forward to kiss the corner of Percival’s lips in acceptance of the apology. Although Percival didn’t believe it, Newt truly didn’t mind helping him with even with the most mundane of tasks. He didn’t mind combing his hair or helping him bathe or guiding him down the stairs or helping him eat. If anything he was glad to be useful. He didn’t even mind the snapping, knowing Percival well enough by now to understand it wasn’t directed at him personally. No, he didn’t mind any of that. 

 

What he did mind was watching Percival suffer, witness how much he tore himself apart with his dark thoughts and his self-blame. It broke his heart to watch the way his strong husband sat with his back hunched, frowning at the carpet and twitching his fingers nervously. The knowledge that there was nothing Newt could do to help him ached deep in his chest. 

 

“Your bowtruckle is a  _ menace _ !” Theseus’ voice boomed through the quiet of the room and Newt felt Percival flinch beneath his hands. He patted Percival’s knee gently and pressed another kiss to his cheek before he straightened up. 

 

“Pickett is adorable.” Newt huffed. “I’m going to do the evening rounds.” Since Percival had been hit with the curse Newt made a conscious effort to make his steps heavier, allowing Percival to trace them easier. As he walked past Theseus he stopped briefly and shot his brother a warning look. “Please be nice,” he said low enough that Percival hopefully didn’t hear it. He’d just feel like Newt was coddling him otherwise. 

 

Theseus rolled his eyes but nodded and clapped Newt’s shoulder. “I know, I know.” 

 

Newt nodded but couldn’t help thinking that Theseus didn’t know. He’d seen Percival through a lot of ups and downs, had known him even longer than Newt had. But this? This was worse than anything he’d seen before. In some ways even worse than the aftermath of Grindelwald. Percival had thrown himself into rebuilding his life then, distracted himself for large parts of the day. He had no distractions now, except for the ones others provided for him. 

 

As he descended the stairs into his suitcase Newt dearly hoped that after talking to Percival, his brother was going to go and yell at the healers. The threat of his wrath would surely make them work quicker.

***

“I stand by it, that Bowtruckle is a menace.” 

 

Percival pulled his shoulders up in a shrug and kept his eyes downcast, worrying at a hangnail on his thumb with his fingers. Never before had Theseus’ presence been intimidating, but without his sight Percival felt small and weak. Maybe it was the auror in him –Theseus and him used to duel and challenge each other all the time, trying to catch the other off guard. Percival provided no challenge right now, Theseus could easily take him down with as simple a spell as a body bind. His disability had stolen all of Percival’s carefully built defenses and left him feeling like he’d shrunk into a skinny and frail version of himself. 

 

“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, McMillan messed up an investigation and I had to clean up after him.” 

 

Percival shrugged again. Since he’d been cursed his instincts had shifted from fight to flight, and he very much wanted to leave the room right now. He’d never felt uncomfortable around Theseus before, and it was deeply unsettling. “It’s not like you missed anything.” 

 

There was a moment of silence and when Theseus spoke again his voice was tight like a bowstring under too much strain. “How’re you feeling?” 

 

“How do you think I’m feeling?” Percival’s fingers curled over his knees and he exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to reign in his temper. He didn’t  _ want _ to behave like an asshole, but he couldn’t help it. Anger and despair were coating his insides like tar, suffocating all other emotions. 

 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.” Theseus was gritting his teeth and suddenly Percival itched with the need to push him over the edge. People had been walking around on eggshells around him and he was sick of it. 

 

“I’m fine. Never been better, really.” 

 

“Percy.” Theseus sighed and Percival imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose like he was dealing with a stubborn child. “Don’t be like that.” 

 

“Like what, Theseus?” Percival asked. 

 

“You know what I mean.” 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t.” 

 

“What I mean-” The sofa creaked like Theseus was leaning forward and Percival shifted. He couldn’t  _ see _ Theseus, but he could still  _ feel _ his heavy gaze focused on him. “-is that you’re behaving like a right bastard.” 

 

“Am I?” Percival tilted his head to the side. 

 

“Oh for fucks sake!” Theseus’ accent was getting thicker and Percival dearly hoped he was turning bright red in the face like he was prone to. Pity he couldn’t see it. 

 

“You gotta stop the moody and broody act, mate. It’s tiresome and it doesn’t suit you. Miserable bastard that you’ve always been, this is a little over the top.” 

 

“Is it? Well, I’m  _ sorry  _ for inconveniencing you with my mood. Feel free to leave anytime, since I didn’t ask you to come in the first place.” Even while the words were leaving his mouth Percival knew that he was going to regret them later. Right now there was no way to hold them in though, his anger like a bubble expanding in his chest, ready to burst. 

 

“Excuse me for wanting to visit my friend who’s been cursed! What was I thinking?! And then I  _ dare _ to ask him how he’s doing!” 

 

“You want to know how I’m doing?” Percival pushed to his feet before he realised what he was doing. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply and stared ahead with narrowed eyes. “I’m blind. I can’t see a single thing, nothing, just black. I can’t go anywhere without help. I spill my drinks all over myself, and I eat like a fucking animal because I keep missing my mouth. I can’t get dressed by myself, I can’t shave myself, I can’t even piss by myself. My husband needs to accompany me to the bathroom. I don’t know if they’ll find a cure, I don’t know if I can ever work again, and I’m fucking useless. So how do you  _ think _ I feel, Theseus?” 

 

Percival’s voice seemed to echo through the room before silence fell. His hands were balled into fists and shaking by his side. When Percival took a step forward his knees bumped into the sharp edge of the table. 

 

“Sweet Merlin, Percival, nobody said you had it easy. It’s shite, what’s happened to you, and I know I wouldn’t cope any better, but we’re all trying to help you, alright?”

 

“Maybe I don’t  _ want _ help.” 

 

“Could you not be so utterly stubborn for once in your life and just accept that allowing people to help you isn’t bad?” Theseus’ temper was rising again, the words coming in explosive bursts. 

 

“This isn’t about being stubborn!” 

 

“Yes it is!” 

 

“Fuck off, Theseus!” Percival could hardly storm from the room. Any attempt at doing so would end in a disgraceful stumble as he fumbled to find the way out and it was a humiliation he couldn’t take. 

 

There was a beat of silence and then the sound of footsteps. For a moment Percival thought that Theseus was going to listen and leave him alone. In hindsight, it had been a stupid thing to think, since Theseus was never one to leave things alone. 

 

The impact of a fist against his jaw send Percival stumbling to the side, throwing his arms out in an attempt to regain his balance. Once he’d steadied himself he was almost tempted to flick his hand and throw Theseus against the wall. His magic was running wild beneath his skin though, burning like his emotions, and no matter how many cutting words he spoke, he didn’t actually want to hurt Theseus. 

 

“Sorry, but I think you needed that. People’ve probably been pussyfooting around you since this happened. That always turns you into a whiny bitch.” 

 

Percival pushed his jaw out a little before he brought a hand up to rub at the throbbing skin. It felt hot beneath his touch, most likely going to bruise. He pressed his fingers against it, the pain like a ventil that allowed his anger to evaporate. 

 

“I suppose,” he huffed and reached behind himself with his free hand until he found the arm of the chair. Sinking back down Percival tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I’m not coping very well with this.” 

 

“You don’t say, I almost couldn’t tell.” There was a trace of humour back in Theseus’ voice and Percival’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. 

 

“So. What I’ve been wanting to tell you before you acted like a sulking teenager is that I’ve been looking up some spells and stuff. To help make this easier. Did you know that there are entire chapters on charms for the blind in the advanced book of spells?” 

 

Percival nodded and listened to Theseus going into a lengthy explanation about those spells. Newt had mentioned a few of them, now that he thought about it, and told him that Theseus would bring the books along. He’d forgotten all about it because right after that Newt had gone off on a rant about the lack of a proper wizarding library, or even a well-stocked bookshop, in New York. This had consequently turned into a rant about the lack of books on the proper care for magical creatures, and why Newt had to write a follow up to his own book. 

 

“Anyway, do you wanna try them?” 

 

Raising his head Percival blinked before nodding, ignoring the cotton-dry feeling of his mouth. No harm in trying, was there? Things could only improve. 

 

***

 

Newt never mentioned the bruise on Percival’s jaw when he returned after feeding his beasts. He only offered his input on the spells they were practicing: charms that would allow Percival to conceive how close objects were, like a wobbertwockle’s echolocation, and spells that would read out written things aloud to him. 

 

After Theseus had retired to the guest room for the night, Newt wordlessly rubbed healing salve into the bruise on Percival’s jaw before kissing his cheek. 

 

“You know, I’ve been reading up on things,” Newt said. “Apparently when you’re deprived of one sense all other senses sharpen.” 

 

“Is that so?” Percival raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was going to turn into a talk about a fascinating beast Newt had discovered that was blind but had an exceptional sense of smell. 

 

“Yes.” Newt took hold of Percival’s hand and tugged gently on it. 

 

“And?” Percival squeezed Newt’s hand, waiting for him to continue. 

 

“And I think you should come upstairs with me.” 

 

For a second Percival’s breath got stuck in his throat. Then he was up on his feet almost embarrassingly quick, allowing Newt to pull him from the room. 

 

***

 

It was ridiculous. Percival had only intended to go from the living room to the kitchen and now he was lost. In his own house. Between two rooms that lay next to each other. 

 

“Damnit.” He took careful steps with one hand on the wall, the other casting the echolocation spell. It didn’t help at all and he was as lost as he’d been before. Had he taken the wrong doorway out of the living room, ending up in the hallway instead? He couldn’t remember which direction he’d come from though, so turning around and going back wasn’t really possible. 

 

Percival sighed and considered sitting down on the floor and simply waiting for Newt to get out of the shower. As he was about to turn his back to the wall something soft brushed against the back of his hand. Percival stilled, all his senses alert as he tried to decide that he’d only imagined that touch. 

 

Something chirped beside him and a furry hand slipped into his, the pads of the palm plush and soft against his own. 

 

“Dougal?” Percival asked and was rewarded with another low chirp. Relief flooded through him like a soothing potion. “Thank Merlin. Can you lead me to the kitchen, Dougal?” 

 

The demiguise squeezed his hand and carefully tugged Percival forward. They’d taken a few steps when a loud chittering close to Percival’s ear made him flinch. Leaves grazed over his cheek and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Sweet Morgana, announce yourself a little less violently next time, Pickett.” 

 

The bowtruckle huffed into Percival’s ear and the sound of rustling leaves made Percival think of branches of trees in the wind, even though Pickett was probably swaying in annoyance and not trying to be soothing. 

 

It was slow going, Dougal overly careful and guiding Percival around every obstacle with precision, but eventually Percival was settled in one of the chairs by the kitchen table, a glass of water –provided by Dougal– in hand. Judging by the constant shifting of his hair, Pickett was building a nest on his head. 

 

The glass of water in Percival’s hand was replaced by a hot cup. Tea by the smell of it. 

,

“Thank you, Dougal.” 

 

Percival sipped his tea in silence, but nearly scalded his hand as he spilled the liquid when something jumped onto his lap. 

 

“What the-” Reaching down Percival found a round, furry body and a coin was pressed into his hand. “Hello, Nif.” Percival couldn’t help but smile, feeling the ridges of the coin as he turned it between his fingers. 

 

Nif clattered and curled up in Percival’s lap, his body a comforting bundle of warmth. 

 

Leaning back in the chair Percival closed his eyes and took another sip of tea, as relaxed as he’d been in a while.

 

***

Percival spent three more weeks in darkness. He got better at casting charms and spells to help him navigate what he’d come to think of as his new life. It wasn’t any less depressing, but Percival learnt to cope better, his anger slowly fizzling away into annoyance and, eventually, grumpy acceptance. 

 

Newt still helped him tremendously, but Percival was determined to find ways to do as many things by himself as possible. Whenever his husband wasn’t there, Dougal or Pickett were with him, the demiguise gently guiding him when he took a wrong turn or was about to stub his toe against a piece of furniture again. Pickett’s approach was a little different, and consisted of him using Percival’s hair like a reign to get him to walk a little more to the left or to the right. It wasn’t graceful, and Tina had burst out laughing the first time she’d witnessed it, but it worked. 

 

Nif curled up in Percival’s lap every night and presented his newest treasures, pressing them into Percival’s hands one after the other, so he could feel them and make appropriately impressed noises. 

 

He was in the middle of tracing his fingers over the edge of what he thought was a locket, Nif practically vibrating in his chest with pride, when footsteps echoed through the hallway and towards the living room, approaching quickly. 

 

“Percy!” 

 

Percival’s hand tightened around the gem at the breathless sound of Newt’s voice. 

 

“St Abraham’s just sent an owl asking us to come over.” 

 

His stomach tightened and for a second Percival forgot how to breathe. Hope was flickering in his chest but he firmly put that flame out before it could set him on fire. It didn’t have to mean anything, and getting his hopes up could well end up depressing. 

***

When Percival opened his eyes it was still dark. The darkness was more nuanced though, different shades of black and brown and grey, where light broke through the closed blinds of the room. He thirsted to see colours and light like a man in the desert thirsted for water, but that’d have to wait. 

 

Percival’s eyes weren’t quite focusing, and yet Newt’s blurry silhouette was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

 

“Did it work?” 

 

“How are you feeling?” Newt and Healer Dudding spoke at the same time. 

 

“Yes.” Percival didn’t take his eyes off Newt, blinking rapidly to dislodge some of the potion still clinging to his lashes. In the dim light he could see Newt smiling and reached up, tracing his fingertip over the curve of Newt’s lips. In the past weeks Percival had memorized that smile –and a myriad of other expressions– by feeling it with his fingers. He could trace the bridge of Newt’s nose and the shape of his eyebrows from memory. 

 

Newt’s smile widened, like the sun appearing after the rain and chasing the last of the grey clouds away. Percival hardly dared to blink, wanting to take everything in. Newt had never looked more beautiful. 


End file.
